


The Simple Life

by through_shadows_falling



Series: MCU Ficlets [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Frottage, Goat Farm, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-08 10:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: One year since the Accords, and Steve asks Sam to check up on Bucky in Wakanda. Sam agrees, but the man he finds is the not the man he expected...though that's not exactly a bad thing.Bucky is a peaceful goat farmer who enjoys the simple life, and who happens to be attractive as hell.Sam is so freaking screwed.Takes place between Civil War and Infinity War Part 1.





	The Simple Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of those plot bunnies that I HAD to write immediately. I cranked out most of this in one day! I just love these two flirting and then getting together! 
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers [Rotem Rusak](https://twitter.com/Moondancer1626) and [ymirphile](https://ymirphile.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Also, apologies about getting any details of Wakanda wrong - I did my best to research what I could. Enjoy!

“Can you do me a favor, Sam? Just a small favor?” Sam grumbled to himself as he tightened his grip on the inner handhold of a Wakandan rover. The driver seemed not to care that he was hitting _all_ the bumps in the road—or maybe that was just in Sam’s head. Most likely it was, since the Dora Milaje accompanying him barely moved in her seat, poised like a statue. As the vehicle sped along at a dizzying pace, Sam felt like his brain was getting scrambled, and he wondered yet again what he’d gotten himself into.

When Steve asked him to check up on Bucky in Wakanda, Sam hadn’t thought they’d be this far out of the city. He’d expected a one and done kinda deal.

Then again, on the flight over, he'd spent the hours reading a shitty biography written about Bucky Barnes in the 60’s. Why had Sam decided to torture himself so? Even he didn’t know, but it’d been a year since things went down with the Accords, and he figured he owed it to Bucky. Not that he’d forgotten getting his wings ripped off, or getting thrown from a building, or getting punched in the gut then tossed aside till his head hit something metal. Man, Sam was lucky to be alive.

And while he’d told Steve to go after Bucky, it still hurt to be left behind during the airport fight. Sam had to deal with Tony’s repulsor to the chest then the Raft while the two super soldiers went ahead without him. What happened to them after wasn’t a walk in the park, according to Steve’s haunted retelling, but Sam was loyal to his people. He would’ve had Steve’s back, except that was Bucky’s job. Had always been Bucky’s job, based on family conversations and interviews with the Howling Commandos written in the biography. Sam didn’t stand a chance butting in on a friendship that dated back to the early 1900’s, but yeah. It stung how quickly Steve made the decision to trade Sam for Bucky. A little more resistance would’ve been nice.

“Yet here you are,” he added to himself as green and brown scenery whipped by. One puppy-dog look from Steve Rogers, and Sam caved. He’d chosen his side, and would follow his commander’s order, no matter where it led. Did that make him pathetic or an idiot? Probably both.

Sam shook his head, and recalled his mom saying he’d always been a good soldier, to a fault. Damn, now he missed her all over again. It’d been way too long since they last spoke. Being an international criminal really sucked.

The rover stopped, and Sam was thankful he’d buckled his seat belt—or rather, that the mechanical snake that served as his seat belt had buckled itself.

Wakanda, man. It was nuts.

And even more nuts was the view when the rover stopped. They’d halted on the crest of a green hill. A lush valley surrounded by trees spread into the distance, and Sam could just make out small clusters of dwellings, with curls of smoke billowing into the air and people darting to and fro.

Closer movement attracted his attention, and Sam’s breath caught. Right at the base of the rise, a white man was hauling hay. He had one arm, and long brown hair.

“White Wolf,” the Dora Milaje said, a smirk on her lips. She eyed Sam. “This is you.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I have more important things to do.”

Sam startled when the seat belt retracted with a clang. He glared, then hopped out of the rover with his duffel bag.

The Dora Milaje pressed a set of beads into his palm. “Call us when you’re ready.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Before Sam could ask how he would use a bracelet to make a phone call, the Dora Milaje slapped the dashboard and the rover lurched away, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Sam coughed into his elbow. Damn, he hated dirt. He was _not_ a country boy.

Speaking of country boys… Someone cleared their throat, and Sam faced a man he never would’ve recognized as Bucky Barnes. Bucky wore black drawstring pants, a ratty off-white shirt with the armholes cut out, and a brown scarf-like fabric draped over where his left arm would’ve been. His skin was tanned for a white dude, with a few freckles that stood out on his forearm and face. A scrawny beard covered his chin and jawline, and with his hair billowing in the wind, he looked the part of a hunky mountain man—with the bulging, sweaty muscles to prove it.

Not that Sam noticed those details or anything.

Sam blinked when he realized he’d been staring too long. He quickly whistled to cover his embarrassment. Smooth.

Bucky just raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not Steve.”

“Damn. What gave me away?”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, then grew sober. “He’s okay though, right?”

“Oh yeah. He’s on a mission with Nat. Had to go dark, so he asked me to check on you.”

Bucky nodded, then wiped sweat from his brow. “Well, I don’t know how long you’re staying, but I’ve got a spare pallet and plenty of food to share. The locals are kind like that.” He smiled to himself, and in the sunlight, the word that came to Sam’s mind was ‘soft.’ Not an adjective he would’ve used to describe the former Winter Soldier. Wakanda had been good to Bucky, in more ways than one it seemed.

Bucky grabbed the duffel bag, and Sam spluttered. “Hey, what’re you doing?” Sam rushed after him as Bucky descended the hill.

“You’re my guest, so I’m carrying your bag. It’s called being polite.”

“You just yanked that outta my hands. That ain’t polite.”

“Just let me carry it. You’ve had a long day.”

Sam scowled and crossed his arms as he trailed Bucky to a small house nestled next to a paddock. A herd of goats milled about, chomping at hay or congregating together. Bucky greeted each one by name as he passed, and damn if that wasn’t cute as hell.

“So you’re really living the life now, huh,” Sam said, once they ducked inside. Under the roof, the space was tiny but comfortable. The single room contained only a few pieces of furniture, including a sink basin and countertop, an old refrigerator, a stove, a knee-high wooden table, a bookshelf, a chest, and a rug with rolls of fabric pushed to the side that Sam assumed were the pallets Bucky mentioned. The rest of the floor was packed dirt, and there were no windows—just holes cut in the wall to let in air. It was warm enough that the breeze was divine. Sam lifted his collar to fan himself. He hadn’t realized how humid it was, what with the rover moving at breakneck speeds.

Bucky set down Sam’s duffel bag. “It’s not the life I thought I’d live, but it’s good.”

“Yeah? What kinda life did you think you’d have?”

“To be honest, after I was drafted, I didn’t expect much more than lying dead in a ditch somewhere in Europe.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to that. Silence fell, punctured by the bleats of the goats outside and the distant calls of birds, not to mention the humming of summer insects.

Bucky sighed. “Sorry. Um. You hungry? I can whip together some lunch if you want. There are cushions to sit on under the table.”

Sam found a cushion and folded himself awkwardly onto it, his legs sprawled on the rug. “I haven’t sat on the floor since kindergarten.”

“You get used to it. You mind vegetarian? I finished the lamb last night.”

“Sure.” Sam swatted at a fly and absently tracked Bucky’s movements as he removed food from the fridge and lit up the gas stovetop. His tight shirt revealed back muscles that bunched and released as he worked, and Sam was mesmerized by how fluid his motions were despite missing a hand. Even as the Winter Soldier, Bucky had possessed a certain grace and mastery over his body that Sam grudgingly admired.

“I didn’t know you were drafted,” Sam said at last.  

Bucky tensed, almost like he’d forgotten Sam was there.

“Your biography says you volunteered,” Sam continued.

Bucky snorted. “That the one by Edward Nodding? Yeah, he made a bunch of shit up. I appreciate that he wanted to make me out to be this glorified hero, but he was just plain wrong about a lot of things.”

“Oh yeah? Like what else?”

“He left out that I was Jewish, for one thing, which should’ve been obvious.”

Sam scoffed. “Wow. What a dick.”

Bucky shot him a smile. “Right?” He hesitated. “What’re you doing reading my biography, anyways? There are much better books out there.” He pointed to his bookshelf, which was crammed with paperbacks of all shapes and sizes.

Sam’s face heated, but thankfully he didn’t think Bucky would notice. “Just reading up on my assignment, you know how it is.”

“Your assignment.” Bucky’s voice was flat, and all good humor fell from his expression. He turned back to the stove to finish reheating their food in a frying pan.

Sam winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just curious about you. We haven’t exactly met on the best of terms, man.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong.” Bucky scooped the contents of the pan onto two plates, then reached to grab spoons from an upper shelf. With careful dexterity, he wedged one plate into the crook of his elbow, and clutched the other in his hand before approaching the table.

Sam lifted up to help, but Bucky deposited the plates with ease.

“Water okay?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah.” Tantalizing scents wafted from Sam’s plate, and he breathed in the spices. It appeared to be a rice dish mixed with vegetables, including plantains. “Smells good.” He nodded in thanks when Bucky passed him a water glass, and then seated himself at his own spot. Sam dug in and moaned at the burst of flavor on his tongue. “Oh man, this is awesome.”

Bucky’s ears turned pink. “Thanks. The locals here taught me everything, and they’ve been giving me all sorts of food to try. I know T’Challa told them to, but they’ve gone above and beyond. I’m very grateful.”

Beneath his words, Sam sensed Bucky didn’t feel like he deserved the kind treatment, but was happy to receive it anyway. Sam’s gut twisted with empathy. He’d endured the same self-deprecating guilt after he failed—no, after Riley _fell_. It was nobody’s fault, least of all Sam’s.

And yet, there were nights he woke screaming for the first man he’d ever loved as he watched him plummet to the ground.

They ate in silence for a few more moments. The stillness seemed to settle Bucky, and his earlier tension relaxed. For a man who’d lived through an ungodly amount of horrors, Sam could see how the quiet life suited him.

“So, does this place have electricity?” Sam asked. Considering what he’d seen of Wakanda, the fact that Bucky lived in less than a technological marvel was strange.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, and plumbing. Got a nice outhouse set-up. I couldn’t even explain how it works, but it’s clean.” He ducked his head, and hair swept into his face. He blew off the errant strands with an adorable pursed expression. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I do have tech. Got my own kimoyo beads, along with some tablets.” He nodded at where Sam had wrapped the beads around his wrist.

“Tablets, huh? You get Netflix all the way out here?”

Bucky leaned forward, and his face transformed from wary to mischievous. “Yup. I’ve been binging the Great British Baking Show.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Bucky cracked a grin, and Sam’s traitorous heart fluttered. Damn. What was it with dimply white boy smiles that made him _feel_ things? First Riley, and now this asshole.

And this asshole had very nearly killed him at least twice. Maybe three times. Though that wasn’t exactly Bucky’s fault, right? Torture and brainwashing were powerful motivators.

“I really want to try making one of those fancy meat pies,” Bucky said. “They looked _amazing_ and I’m sure they tasted even better.”

“I honestly can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Sam said. “You’re one hell of a guy, Barnes.”

“What does that mean?” Bucky lounged back and cocked his head at Sam, a teasing angle to his lips.

“It means that you’re a menace. Meat pies? Out of everything on that show, and the meat pie is what’s got you salivating? Not even the Victoria Sponge or Savarin?”

Bucky fell over laughing, a beautiful sound, and Sam chuckled along with him. His heart fluttered again, and damn it, this was not how Sam envisioned their visit. Where had this attraction come from, anyways? Maybe it started with that biography, complete with photos of a charming, brash, and sharply handsome young man before the world chewed him up and spit him out.

Or maybe Sam’s fascination with Bucky came long before that, back when Steve was desperate to find him after the Triskelion. Sam had joined Steve on a mission that ultimately failed, because Bucky was outed by Zemo before Steve and Sam could get to him. Then the whole Accords thing happened, and after Steve broke down crying on Sam’s shoulder a few weeks later, upset that Bucky would choose to go back under because he couldn’t trust his own mind, Sam pondered.

Just who was Bucky Barnes? A soldier, a friend, a murderer, a victim? And then a year later, reports came in that Bucky had been woken from cryo and gotten fixed, thanks to Shuri and the wonders of Wakandan technology. When Steve asked for a favor, how could Sam have said no?

Bucky was gazing at him, his expression gentle but his gaze slightly predatory. Sam shivered, but the moment passed and Bucky grabbed Sam’s empty plate.

“I assume you’re done?”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

Bucky brought the dirty dishes to the sink, then rinsed them with water.

Sam joined him, hips inches away from each other. “I can wash ’em since you cooked.”

“Fine by me.” Bucky gave Sam a cleaning cloth, though his hand lingered over Sam’s. “Just use the water to wash. The cloth wets itself. See?” He squeezed the cloth into Sam’s fingers, and indeed, the whole fabric grew damp.

Sam’s mouth was dry. “Wakanda, man.”

“Wakanda,” Bucky agreed in the same tone. He backed away. “I’ve gotta check the goats, then herd them up the mountain so they can graze before I pen them in tonight. Come find me when you’re done.”

A second later, Bucky had vanished out the door.

Sam gaped after him, but then got to work. He did have manners after all.

* * *

Reds, blues, and purples streaked across the sky of Wakanda as the sun set. Several hours earlier, Sam had set out to find Bucky, but the man and his goats had disappeared. Faced with unfamiliar terrain, Sam opted to linger behind rather than risk getting lost. That meant he wandered Bucky’s property, and followed a line of road to the nearest cluster of homes. He greeted villagers, and felt at once like he belonged but didn’t. He was still an obvious stranger, a foreigner, and though everyone spoke kindly to him in English, they were probably curious about his background. He told them what he could, and they just nodded when they heard he was visiting Bucky, or as the Dora Milaje had first called him, White Wolf. Sam snorted at the nickname but secretly thought it was kinda cool. A badass superhero name, really.

But not as cool as Falcon.

Sam eventually meandered back to Bucky’s hut to find Bucky closing the paddock with his herd of goats safely inside.

“You didn’t find me,” he said.

Sam leaned against the fence post. “Didn’t want to get lost and eaten by lions or something.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten eaten by lions. Panthers, maybe. But not lions.” With a grin, Bucky latched the gate, then nodded toward inside. “Ready to call it a day?”

As soon as Bucky spoke, the weight of Sam’s travels and anxieties caught up to him. He sagged. “Yeah. I’m about ready to keel over.”

“I’ll get a little more food into you first, and maybe some tea.”

Sam didn’t argue, so they did exactly that.

After a light dinner and warm drinks, Bucky shoved the table aside and rolled out the pallets.

“Sorry there’s not a lot of space,” he said. The rug wasn’t very large, so if Sam wanted his pallet to remain on fabric instead of dirt, he’d be wedged next to Bucky, as if they shared a queen mattress.

Sam shrugged. “I’ve slept with less.”

“Right. Soldier,” Bucky said.

Of course, it wasn’t so much sleeping with little space that got Sam hot and bothered—it was sleeping in such close proximity to Bucky Barnes, a grimy, sweaty but still somehow attractive white man.

Sam was screwed, because was it him, or did Bucky keep shooting him looks as they got ready for bed? Was he interested in Sam back?

They lay down and curled toward each other, their faces no more than a foot apart. The pallets were surprisingly comfortable despite being flat, but again, they _were_ in Wakanda so Sam shouldn’t have been surprised. It was dark except for a sliver of light on the door, plus a path that would lead to the outhouse. Apparently, the lights were solar-powered.

“So. White Wolf, huh?” Sam asked.

Bucky huffed in amusement. “The kids started calling me that, at first. I thought it was cute, and well, it fits. I’m white, and I’m a lone wolf. Makes sense.”

Sam grinned and shifted closer. It was too hot for a blanket, but he had a thin sheet wrapped around his legs. The rustling of his covers was the loudest sound, apart from the muted thrum of nightlife outside.

Bucky didn’t move, and instead sighed when Sam’s knee touched his. “How long are you gonna be here?”

“I dunno.” Sam hadn’t thought about it. He’d brought enough clothes for a week, tops, but it wasn’t like he had a schedule. Being on the run meant just that—running. He’d never stayed in one place very long. But now he was in Wakanda, and he could move at his own pace. Sam wouldn’t need to worry about anything here.

A laugh escaped him.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“Just thinking about how this is the only place in the world where I’m actually safe. No worries...for the rest of my days.”

Bucky snorted. “Really? _Hakuna matata_?”

“Ah-ha! So you have seen Lion King.”

“Of course I have! I watch Netflix all the time, and T’Challa gave me access to a server filled with hundreds of movies and shows. I’m still catching up, but I’ve seen most Disney films.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Tough choice. I kind of like The Sword in the Stone. The legend of King Arthur always fascinated me. What about you?”

“Don’t judge, but I love my home girl Tiana. I got family in New Orleans so The Princess and the Frog really hits home.”

“I definitely cried when that lightning bug died.”

“Oh man, don’t remind me!” Sam shoved at Bucky’s form, laughing. “Now I’m gonna tear up all over again.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

“Like I said, you’re a goddamn menace.”

After a few moments of stillness, Bucky spoke. “I’m glad you came, Sam.”

“Me too.”

“Now good night. We’ll be up with the sun, and you’re helping me milk the goats.”

“What? I didn’t sign up for this,” Sam muttered into his pillow.

Bucky’s soft laughter was the last thing Sam heard before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

As Bucky promised, they woke as soon as sunlight slanted through the open windows. The goats outside were already bleating, and after a hurried breakfast, Sam got dressed and followed Bucky to the paddock.

With the mama goat in position in a milk stand, contently munching on some grain Bucky provided, Sam sat on the stool and braced himself. He swallowed. “Now what?”

Bucky bent close to him, loose hair flowing around his neck. “Like this. You don’t want to pull the teat. Just pinch a bit, then squeeze and it’ll squirt out.” Bucky demonstrated, and a stream of white shot into the bucket with a metallic plink.

A thousand inappropriate jokes came to Sam’s mind, but he refrained from speaking. Instead, he allowed Bucky to grip his wrist and guide it toward the goat. Sam cringed when his fingers brushed the goat’s soft teat. Honestly? It felt kinda like a ballsack—velvety soft and hairy.

“Oh man,” he said, but he copied Bucky’s example. “This feels so weird.”

“Keep going. You’re doing great.”

“You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

But Sam caught Bucky’s snigger, and shot him a dirty look. “I hate you.”

“Just milk the damn goat, Wilson.”

So Sam did. Well, he let Bucky handle the second teat.

From there, he joined Bucky in bringing the fresh milk to an old woman in the village who would use it to make cheese. Then it was back to the farm, where Bucky let the goats out to roam and led Sam on a journey through the nearby rolling hills. The goats grazed, and Bucky stopped to lie on a jutting rock, sprawled like he intended to get a tan. He closed his eyes, and Sam sat a short distance away in the swaying grass.

As the sun bathed Bucky in light, Sam had to hold his breath at the sight of him, all angelic and radiant. He looked calm, peaceful, especially with the wind softly blowing his hair. The word ‘beautiful’ flitted through Sam’s head, and he cursed himself.

He was so totally screwed.

Over the next few days, Sam’s heart continued to squeeze over the charming man that was Bucky Barnes. Sam watched Bucky get his hair braided by several young girls, then interact with some of the elders in a way that left them all laughing.

Apparently, Bucky could speak their language. Sam found the skill impressive, until he realized Bucky’s knack at picking up foreign tongues was a result of Hydra’s meddling. Sam didn’t like to think of the Winter Soldier file, and shook the dire images from his thoughts. Better to bask in the moment, where Bucky was happy and free and ridiculous, at least when they joined a town-wide feast and dance party. Bucky was not too proud to be dragged into the dance circle, where he flailed his limbs pretty well for a white boy. 

When they weren’t in the village, they gathered hay and grain, groomed the goats, fixed fences, washed their laundry in the river, prepared meals, and lounged around either inside with Netflix, or outside under the stars. They didn’t speak much apart from teasing, and instead, comfortable silence developed and grew between them.

Sam hadn’t been planning to spend more than a week in Wakanda, but as the seven-day mark drew nearer, he couldn’t imagine leaving. For one thing, he was sick of running around all the time, always looking over his shoulder. He needed a vacation, and this was it. Not that physical labor translated to rest and relaxation, but Sam could lie next to Bucky at the end of the day aching but satisfied at what he'd accomplished.

And of course, there was Bucky. The man who cared for his goats, who read paperbacks in the sunshine, who gave Sam an extra blanket when it got chilly at night. Sam couldn’t leave him, not now.

Especially when, on their seventh night together, Sam was awoken by a muffled cry.

He’d gotten used to the nighttime sounds of Wakanda, but this was different—it came from right next to him, and sounded human.

Sam sat up in his pallet and reached for the lamp that would turn on at a single touch. The gentle glow illuminated Bucky, who was shaking and pale in the dim light. Bucky’s eyes were wide as they locked onto Sam. A hand latched onto Sam’s wrist, cold and clammy.

“I need you to say the words,” Bucky choked, hoarse. “I need to know...I need to know that it worked.”

This was a topic Sam had yet to breach with Bucky, despite his immense curiosity—just how had Shuri cured Bucky of his brainwashing and residual trauma?

Bucky wrenched away from Sam to grab a pencil and notepad from the bookshelf. In a trembling script, he scribbled words Sam didn’t recognize. When Bucky finished, he thrust the notepad at Sam. “Say them. Please.”

The words resolved themselves into Anglicized Russian, with helpful pronunciation marks. Sam knew what this was, but he really wished he didn’t. “I can’t. I don’t…”

“Sam. Please. I need to know.”

Bucky’s face was haunted, almost gaunt with the shadows that played over his cheeks. “Please.” His voice broke.

And Sam caved. His throat burned, but he managed to squeeze out the first word.  _Zhelaniye._

Bucky trembled and closed his eyes.

Sam paused.

“Keep going,” Bucky gritted out.

So Sam read the next word, then the next, and the next. Each time, he glanced at Bucky and tensed for action, ready to run and find safety in case the Winter Soldier was activated. But after the last word, Bucky released a long shuddering breath and slumped forward.

“Thank god,” he whispered. He scrubbed a hand down his face, still shaking and far too pale.

Sam threw the notebook aside. “Don’t ever make me do that again.” And before he could process his movements, he yanked Bucky into a tight embrace. Bucky clung to him, a solid mass of quivering muscle pressed against Sam’s chest. Sam nuzzled into Bucky’s hair and closed his eyes. Together, they rocked back and forth in a soothing motion that calmed them both.

When they stopped they broke apart slowly, though Bucky’s fingers curled around the base of Sam’s shirt. The warmth of his fingers made Sam’s belly flutter.

“Thank you,” Bucky said. He lifted his gaze, then bit his lip. Sam followed the gesture, then flicked his eyes back up to Bucky’s. Bucky didn’t break the stare, and in fact, pointedly licked his lips while Sam watched.

No, he couldn’t be thinking… This couldn’t be the time for that.

Yet Bucky leaned in, and Sam met him halfway. Their lips came together, then parted as they breathed into each other’s mouths. Bucky crushed himself into Sam, and Sam buried his hands in Bucky’s gorgeous hair. Bucky responded with a whimper then changed the angle, making the kiss grow deep and dirty. His stubble rasped against Sam’s chin with delicious friction.

When a thigh wedged between Sam’s and rubbed at his hard-on, Sam yanked back, panting. “What’re you doing?”

Bucky’s pupils were wide, and his lips pink and spit-slick. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Sam growled. “You sure?”

“I’m a big boy. And it seems like maybe you are, too.”

“Shut the hell up, Barnes.” Sam was ready to tackle him, but decided to let Bucky set the pace. Who knew when Bucky had last been intimate with someone? The thought was both sad and gratifying.

Bucky pushed Sam back onto his pallet, then straddled him so his knees were locked against Sam’s thighs. He leaned down on his elbows and rubbed nose against Sam’s. “I saw you looking at me.”

“Oh yeah? When?”

“All the time.” Bucky rocked down onto him, making Sam gasp. “You’re not. Very. Subtle.” He punctuated each word with a thrust.

“You’re a goddamn menace, I tell you,” Sam managed, though it was hard to breathe with Bucky wiggling over his crotch.

“It’s cute when you call me that. I thought for sure you’d still hate me.” Bucky slowed, seeming self-conscious.

“I do still hate you.”

A slow smile widened on Bucky’s face at Sam’s unconvincing tone. “Oh really? How much do you hate me? This much?” Bucky’s pace increased until he rubbed over the length of Sam’s straining erection with each shift of his body. Then he stopped, and Sam whined. “Or this much?” He grinned wickedly.

“I hate you _so much_ ,” Sam said, and dragged Bucky down so they were kissing again. Bucky laughed into his mouth but obliged. He soon continued his body rolls, and Sam was already close to the edge. He hadn’t had sex in a long time either, let alone felt like jacking off when he was stressing about so many other things.

Bucky’s hair tickled Sam’s face, and after one hard thrust, Sam broke away from Bucky’s lips to moan long and loud.

“Yeah. There you are,” Bucky said. “I wanna hear you.”

Sam groaned and squirmed. Bucky’s rhythm was maddening, and Sam’s grip on reality narrowed to the pleasure aching to be released. Sweat covered his body, and he wriggled, desperately seeking satisfaction that Bucky kept taking away.

“Shh, don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need.” Bucky pressed his lips to Sam’s forehead, then nipped at Sam’s neck. “Shh, baby, I got you.” And with one final, sinuous roll, Sam snapped. He moaned as his orgasm crashed through him, and his boxers grew wet.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Bucky said, and continued to kiss every bit of skin within reach.

Sam trembled beneath him, breathing hard. “Damn.”

Bucky rolled off Sam and back onto his pallet, so they faced each other. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair even more of a mess than earlier.

Sam swallowed, then flapped his hand in a vague gesture as a thought occurred to him. “Wait Did you…?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Same time as you.”

“Oh. Good.”

Their panting was the only sound for a few minutes, and then Bucky propped up onto his elbows to glance down at Sam. “So, how long did you say you were staying?”

Sam blinked at him. Sure, he and Bucky may not have been friends for decades, but they could still have _this_ —a different kind of relationship to the one Bucky had with Steve. The last of Sam's bitterness melted away as he pretended to frown. “Hmm. You know, I’m not sure. I might have to stick around for a while longer, just to keep an eye on you.”

Bucky grinned, then scooted closer to nestle against Sam. “Because I’m a menace, right?”

“Damn straight.”

* * *

And if in a few week’s time Steve visited Wakanda and was surprised to find Sam still hanging around with Bucky, he didn’t show it.

Although he did give Natasha the bet money he owed her.


End file.
